Frustration: A deep chronic sense or state of insecurity and dissatisfaction arising from unresolved problems or unfulfilled needs. Boy, does that describe my state of being for the last two days!
I should hate Tia Robertson. She’s tall, blonde, slim, beautiful and a professional pilot. Her family also owns a Cessna 195, a Cessna 170, and a Taylorcraft, all meticulously restored, all beautiful.
Today, my sister-in-law is getting married.
There is a smile on my face and joy in my heart as I write this. While my readers may think, “Gee that’s nice, Mrs. McFarland, but what does this have to do with flying?”
It has everything to do with my flying of late because it gives me perspective.
“It’s funny how things evolve. If you’ve ever noticed, change is seldom abrupt. Instead, it comes like spring, in small, barely perceptible stages, until one day you look around and realize your world is green again. That’s the way it was with Boonie.
One day, Charles Watson Darnell, known about town simply as Boonie, was just a passenger, someone who liked to fly. Before too long, he was my friend. This is not so unusual except that maybe 30 years stand between us. Now, he is so much more.
In a couple of weeks, the Old Man and I will celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. I can’t say that it seems just like yesterday that we were young newlyweds. We’ve enjoyed a full and satisfying 30 years, and we have tried to take advantage of each and every precious day.
We’ve been blessed to experience many special things in those years. We’ve grown a wonderful family. We’ve had some grand adventures, and we’ve done a little flying here and there, lately a little more here than there. When we first started our lives together, times were tough. Gas was expensive. Jobs were scarce. The economic outlook was dim. Seems like we’ve come full circle.
In my experience, airports fall into two categories. There are those that are all business, a sterile environment where pilots and passengers pass through for a time, leaving none of themselves or their experiences behind. These are efficient patches of asphalt that are necessary in modern times, and it is not the function or responsibility of these facilities to inspire.
Then there are the other places, those half-forgotten patches of grass or concrete where a middle-aged housewife with gray hair or a gangly teenaged boy whose arms have not quite come to terms with his legs are encouraged to follow a desire to become one with the sky.